


What the Hell is a Kye-ote, Stiles?

by Ryenan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alive Laura Hale, Alive Talia Hale, Canon-Typical Violence, Comatose Peter, Dead Derek Hale, Gen, Gun Violence, Guns, Season 1 Takes Place Senior Year of High School, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryenan/pseuds/Ryenan
Summary: What if: Teen Wolf Season One happened in rural Alabama? What if it happened senior year? What if Scott was even more clueless, because he's from california and has no idea what Stiles - or anyone else in this town - is saying half the time?Derek dies in the fire, Laura and Talia survive, Peter convalesces at home yet still refuses to get better, until....Enter Stiles, a shotgun, and Scott's giant feet.Check the notes for more info!





	What the Hell is a Kye-ote, Stiles?

**Author's Note:**

> Guns/ Gun Violence tag: A werewolf is shot at by a confused and scared human, no serious injury or death results.

Stiles tries the handle of the screen door on the McCall house, so he can knock on the real door, but finds it locked. Sighing, he raps his knuckles against the sill of the narrow window set to the side of the door.

“Coming,” a woman’s voice calls, and then – “Scott, get the door!”

Scott stumbles down the stairs, loud on the old wood, and almost hits the door in his haste to open it. Click, clack, go the double locks, and then he’s looking at Stiles.

“You locked the screen door, too, Scotty, what’s that ‘bout?”

“Are you not supposed to? It has a lock – “

“We don’t really lock screen doors much round here, but y’all do y’all.” He steps back to let the screen door swing into his place, then leans against the doorframe without stepping inside.

“Evenin’ Ms. McCall.” The sound of the sink says she’s in the kitchen, so he calls out pretty loudly, making Scott cringe.

“Hi, Stiles. Are you coming in?”

“No Ma’am, my boots are pretty muddy. Had somethin’ to ask you, if you have a moment.”

She steps out into the hall, holding her soapy hands aloft, and smiles at their guest. She’s still in her scrubs, but has kicked of her shoes.

“What’s up?”

“I was hoping to take Scotty boy here out, there’s a girl missin’ in the woods and I could use a buddy for the search party. Thought he might enjoy gettin’ out, meetin’ some folks. Helping with the search.”

“Oh my, of course. Scott, go put your shoes on, “

“Boots, if you’ve got them, ‘scuse me,”

“Boots, of course, and take a sweater. You’re a good kid for helping out, Stiles.”

Stiles blushes, ducks his head. Scott scrambles back up the stairs, and Stiles hopes he’s smart enough to put on some jeans instead of basketball shorts too.

“Thank ya, Ma’am. I’ll have him back by nine, if that suits you. Sunset’s not till eight or so, so hopefully we got plen’y time to look.”

“That’s great. Do you want a snack before you go?”

  


  


“So,” Scott starts, but Stiles hushes him with a quick shake of his head.

“Get in the truck.”

Once the engine is cranked and rumbling, Stiles answers Scott’s unvoiced question. “Yes, there is actually a girl missing. Only she’s half missing, ‘cause Deputy Rochel, Tommy, found her bottom half ‘bout an hour ago out on a jog. We’re lookin’ for the top half. But the top half of ‘er is missing, so it’s not really a lie, a’ight? Don’t go freakin’ out on me.”

“What the shit, Stiles! I don’t want to go hunt for half a girl!”

“Well too bad, because I need a search-n-rescue buddy. First rule of the woods, don’t go out alone.”

Scott is still pissed, even with this logic. He and Stiles… are not friends, exactly, just neighbors. Neighbors is a bit of a stretch, because they live literally miles apart, but Sheriff Stilinski’s house is the closest, so it technically counts. The locals are wary of him and his mom, but at least they need his mom - He’s just the weird ‘yankee’ kid with odd clothes and purportedly no manners.

“Why me?”

“You were closest. Plus, everyone else is already out lookin. I was fishin’, didn’t get the message ‘till I got back, so I’m stuck with you. Don’t worry, I won’t run you too ragged.”

“Okay well where are we headed? Where was she found?”

“My dad assigned us a grid square up near the Hale estate, since I know Miss Talia pretty well and she won’t freak to see me out there. You know the Hales?”

“No, I’ve only lived here for like a month and a half, Stiles. Ya’ know.”

“Don’t get sharp with me. Anyway, I’ll tell you ‘bout them later, ‘cause it’s not nice to talk about someone on their own land. You ready?”

Stiles parks his big blue pickup just off the side of the road, in a patch of short grass by a gravel driveway that winds into the trees. He pulls a rifle off the rack in the back window of his truck cab, and stuffs a few shells into his pocket. Scott doesn’t say anything, not willing to ask what the hell he thinks he needs that for, and just hops out of the high seat. There’s a nice looking mailbox to the other side of the driveway, and Stiles heads for it.

“What are you – you can’t just go in someone else’s mail, Stiles,”

“Sure I can, Scott. Really, you gotta relax. Need to learn how it works here before August, don’t want to be a California yank in high school. Let’s go, gotta say hello to Miss Talia before we start trackin’ through her property.”

Scott grumbles, indignantly, but trails after Stiles, who sets a quick pace up the gravel drive. Scott is already hot, in his t-shirt and jeans, But Stiles is bundled up in a flannel over shirt and heavy denim pants, and doesn’t seem bothered in the least.

“Aren’t you hot?”

“No? It’s like sixty two out here, and it’ll hit fifty-five around sunset. You stay down off the porch, just let me talk to Miss Talia real fast.”

Stiles bounds up the front steps onto the porch, skipping the loose second step easily. The white paint is peeling, just barely, and has lost some of its tone to the stain of spring’s pollen, but it still looks pretty good. The family doesn’t have the time, or enough people anymore, to keep up with all the maintanince a house this big needs.

He doesn’t knock, just pulls the screen door open with a tiny squeak and pushes in through the front door. Scott gawks a little, but Stiles is back out before he can say anything, mail gone from his hands. He pulls the door shut and jumps off the porch as quickly as he came.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Weren’t you going to tell her we were here?”

“Oh, she heard me. But It’s ‘bout time for Mr. Hale’s physical therapy, so she’s busy with him. Let’s go, daylight’s a wastin.”

  


  


“Did you hear that, Peter? Stiles brought the mail up. He’s a sweet boy, sharp as a tack. If you’d jus’ heal up already, you could meet ‘im, but since you’re so busy...”

Peter doesn’t move, doesn’t respond to his sisters’ gentle teasing. It’s been six years since the fire that killed most of the Hales, at their river house just across the state line and on the edge of the territory, and he hasn’t moved much since that day. Talia has been a good sister, staying by his side and helping him heal, but it’s slow going. The burns are physical, but the wound is mental – betrayal, confusion, anger – and there’s no where good for him to focus his rage, so it just festers. Derek died in the fire, sacrificed himself to make sure Kate Argent, the huntress, died right along with her prey. Laura and Talia hunted down her acomplices, dealt with everyone but her father, Gerard, who was already dying a slow death, and so that leaves no one but himself for Peter to focus his anger on.

Peter knows Stiles, his scent and his face, from the fair few times he’s been out on the porch when the boy stopped by. He’d make a fine addition to their tiny pack, but he is the sheriff’s son, and that would open up a can of worms Talia isn’t willing to deal with.

Talia and Laura alone help Peter, because a human nurse would be too risky. He was in a long term care facility for a few weeks, while his skin was still raw, and the nurses there – overworked as they are – still noticed the alarming rate with which he healed. So he came home, and has seen no one but his sister and niece and Stiles.

They can hear the boys stumbling around the side of the house, one careful and purposeful, the second dragging his feet through the grass in too-heavy boots. Tala smiles a little, but Peter isn’t pleased by their presence. It is Hale land, and the Hale house, and they don’t –

“I can smell the irritation on you, Peter, and it better not be at me or those boys. They’re looking for a missing girl, and I’m going to go join the hunt as soon as Laura gets back.” She nods, mostly to herself, resolute. Peter would be fine on his own for an hour or two if she left now, but it’s scary to leave her defensless brother alone if she doesn’t have to.

 

Out back of the house, Stiles is scowling at Scott’s inability to walk quietly, and Scott is considering whistling, since Stiles isn’t talking.

One note passes between his lips and Stiles spins, smacking Scott squarely on the arm.

“Shut up, you dingus, what the hell you think you doing?”

“Uh, ouch, Stiles. I’m whistling? Because it’s really quiet and creepy out here?”

“It wouldn’t be so quiet if you weren’t scarin’ off all the birds with your stomping. Pick yer damn feet up.” He turns and starts walking again, feet quiet in the brush, and Scott tries to imitate the way he rolls his feet heel-toe heel-toe to cut down on the noise.

“Why are we being quiet?”

“Bobcats, bears, and coyotes,” Stiles says, pronouncing it “kye-oats,” much to Scott’s confusion, “Are easier to avoid if they don’t come lookin’ for the wounded animal thatcha sound like.”

“Kye-oates,” Scott says. “Kye-oates. Coyotes?”

“Po-tay-to, Po-tah-to, Scott. Now step up, we got a lot a ground to cover.”

“Yeah, how far exactly? Because these boots – “

  


  


They stay out longer than they should, but Scott is just so, dang, slow, and Stiles didn’t consider that when budgeting their time. They’re a half mile north of the Hale house, and a half mile west, when the sun starts to set in earnest. Scott is shivering and not really looking around, just trying to stay upright in the near dark instead.

“Stiles, I can’t see anything out here. Are we almost back?”

“Halfway, thereabouts. Use your phone as a flashlight, but keep it on your feet so I can see. Don’t wanna come back out here tomorrow and have t’clear the same area again.”

There’s a soft rustle off to the side, like an animal rolling in the grass, and Stiles grabs Scott’s arm to keep him from running right into Stiles. Scott stops, and opens his mouth to say something – but the clack of his teeth as his jaw snaps shut is the only noise he makes once he hears the rustling.

Stiles lets go of Scott’s tense shoulder and adjusts his grip on the gun, putting the butt to his shoulder. It might be a squirrel and it might be a bear, but all he has is buckshot.

“Walk away, back towards the Hale house, quiet as you can,” Stiles whispers, hoping Scott can hear him. They’re out here way too late, shouldn’t be out in the woods in the dark, summer or winter, and Stiles knows this.

Scott, mercifully, manages to creep away half-quietly. He doesn’t let fear rule him, doesn’t run, not with Stiles still too close to whatever it might be out there. His gentle steps don’t last long, however, when he puts his foot into a holly bush and almost lays himself out over the sharp leaves.

The creature that Stiles still can’t quiet see stops moving, but starts sniffing the air with deep, heavy breaths that give Stiles a much better idea of its size.

“Scott, now you should run.”

He does, pulling himself out of the bush and making a tremendous racket.

 The animal, the creature, hears Scott – and springs forward, like a predator, not away. Stiles fires indiscrimanetly, hopes the buckshot confuses and frightens more than he intends for it to wound, but still - it clears the shrubs is a smear of pale fur and skin, leaps high enough to knock it – his – knees into Stiles’ chest as the gun goes flying off to the side.

Human, Human, Human, screams some little voice in the back of his mind, and Stiles has seen Tucker and Dale vs. Evil too. Many. Times. To die by psycho in his own damn woods. He grabs hold of weak calves as they fall, slips down to ankles thin enough to circle his fingers around, and gets ready to fight.

He doesn’t get a chance. A bare, claw-nailed foot nails him above the left eye and the world goes dark.

  


  


Scott is a good kid. Stupid, but good, in the rule-following, never-leave-a-man-behind, never talk back kind of way. He needs to learn what ‘run and don’t look back’ means, apparently, because he doesn’t hoof it to the Hale house as instructed but comes back for Stiles after he hears the creature run off.

“Dude! Dude! Are you alive?”

He is shining the flashlight straight down on Stiles face, because  no one ever taught him any manners, but all the same Stiles is glad to not be alone.

“We are gettin’ thuh hell outta these woods right this gotdam minute. Jesus Mary and Joseph quit shinin that light in my eye and find ma damn gun.”

“Oh good, I thought you might be dead. There’s blood all over your face, Stiles, you – “

“I damn well know it, I can feel the cuts it’s comin’ out of. Gun, Scott, so we can get the fuck outta here, since I can’ see shit for you blinding me.”

The spots and flashes might be from the light or might be a sign of a concussion, but all Stiles wants to do is have a good cuss to stave off the tears and get out of these woods.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it. Do you need a hand up?”

His shoulder is on fire and there’s blood in his eyes,but he’s not taking a hand up from Scott just in case the fool shoots him.

“I can get up. Let’s jus head back to my truck, so we can get you on home.”

“My mom can look at your forehead, fix up that cut – “

“Hell no. don’t you ever tell your momma what just happened or I’ll whupp you good, you hear? This never happened.”

“Why? What was it?”

He – he didn’t see. Stiles can cover this shit up like dousing biscuits in gravy, and never have to reveal he saw Peter gotdamn Hale leap out of the bushes half nekkid and furry. He can lie, thank Jesus, and not have to discuss whatever the fuck that was with Scott.

“It was a damn opossum, Scott, and my pride is hurt worse than my head. Lets git.”

Scott doesn’t laugh, and Stiles thinks rather ruefully that it’s probably because he doesn’t know what opossums even are, not because he’s a good kid. But they get on going, Stiles resting the gun back from Scott’s inexpert grip once he can see, and they tromp through the brush at doubletime to get back to the truck.

  


  


The next morning finds Stiles at the Hale’s front door, bright and early – before either of the ladies has gone off to work, or the nurse slash second cousin has rolled around to babysit Peter all day.

Laura smells the blood on Stiles as he tromps up the driveway, but manages to resist the urge to step out on to the porch to greet and appraise him, pretends like she’s human and can’t hear him coming.

He pops the screen door open with a dismal squeak and pop, but hesitates at the real door, hand on the knob but not moving.

Talia, in the kitchen, has stopped her coffee stirring, all her attention is so focused on the young man at the door. Laura keeps working her hair, if only because she wants it all down and off the rollers before she goes down to greet him.

Finally, He gatheres up the courage, determination, somethingorother, necescarry to turn the knob. He only opens the big door a foot though, and pokes his head in to call out.

“Missus Hale? Miss Laura? I was hopin’ to talk to ya, do you have a minute this mornin?”

Talia sets her spoon down with a gentle clink and rounds the corner from the kitchen to the foyer, expecting the boy to be muddy and bloody from an early fishing trip, but –

“My goodness, boy, what did you do to yore forehead? You best com’on in, let me look at you – Laura! Bring me a first aid kit!”

“Oh they ain’t too bad, Missus Hale, but I ain’t do this to myself like no fool. These here came from your brother’s foot, and I got some on this here shoulder from his teeth,” Stiles throws the emphasis on teeth like he’s throwing a fifteen pound bag of cow-shit fertilizer over a five foot fence, “yes, his teeth, and I was just wondering if I could get a quick run down of what in G-d’s name is goin’ on here. Ma’am.”

  


End file.
